


Sam Accidentally Sees the Whole Picture

by almaasi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Bickering, Bottom Dean, Emotional Dean, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Grumpy Dean, Human Castiel, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, Intense, M/M, Moaning, Motel Rooms, Non-Penetrative Sex, One Shot, POV Sam Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Sam Ships It, Sharing a Bed, Team Free Will, Top Castiel, Virgin Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2018-01-15 16:02:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1310779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/pseuds/almaasi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's been through a lot lately, what with tonight's hunt rendering his skin an aching shade of purple and all. He can deal with Dean being overly concerned about Cas' broken finger, and - God help him - he puts up with the sound of their preposterously soppy love confessions and first kisses on the adjacent bed. But he cannot be expected to remain silent and feign sleep throughout the entire duration of their first-ever lovemaking session. He just can't. Especially not, because it seems apparent that Cas is more intent on deflowering himself than letting Dean do it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sam Accidentally Sees the Whole Picture

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning** for Cas holding his hand over Dean's mouth to stop him moaning.

Lake tide washed up against the pier’s stubby, moss-drifting legs, turning the lamplight into scattered triangles that caught and dissipated on the water’s unbroken surface. Sam went on staring downwards with his arms resting on the barrier, calmed by the easy gush, sway, gush, sway of the water. Both Dean and Cas were slumped against the pier’s barrier, Dean leaning against Sam’s left leg.

Sam listened for Dean talking to Castiel in the background, but the night air kept voices muffled, so when any of them spoke it was as if they were mumbling through cloth.

“It’s not too bad,” Dean said. Sam didn’t look over, but he could guess Dean was dressing the gashes that ran Castiel’s left arm, having been clawed earlier that night. “Could’ve been worse.”

Castiel sighed heavily enough that, had Sam been looking, he would have seen Cas’ breath cloud into a plume of white, illuminated by the hanging light above the pier. “It could have been _less_ worse, too.”

“Don’t worry about that, all right?” Dean said reassuringly. “There’s no use pining after your mojo when the mojo’s not there to pine after. Let’s just deal with what’s here. Hold still.”

Sam heard the snip of surgical scissors, then a ruffle of fingers on gauze, then the tear of medical tape and the satisfied exhale Dean let out as he successfully taped down the raggy end of the bandage. “There.”

Sam looked down at the others now, smirking at the sight of Castiel’s tiny smile. New bandages over a painful wound gave more than relief, Sam knew the feeling well: when Dean wrapped him up, it felt like a hug, and the ongoing application of pressure felt like another, nearly infinite hug. Dean was better at bandaging wounds than anybody professional, Sam firmly believed that.

“Is that okay?” Dean asked, a cautious hand still hovering near Castiel’s arm. “Too tight?”

“Not at all,” Castiel said. “It’s very well done.”

Dean relaxed, setting the scissors back into their pouch. In the cool buzzing of the lamp, he seemed tired, but he blinked hard to hold off the fatigue.

They’d come out to this pier because it offered the only bright spot for miles around, especially given that the Impala’s ceiling light was too yellow to properly differentiate skin from smeared blood. Sam breathed deeply, tasting freshwater silt on the back of his tongue. Here, beyond the white highlights on the dark wooden planks of the long jetty, the stars sparkled like glitter spilled on oil, the night sky plunging with blue gullies filled with even more stars.

It was beautiful, and while Dean’s attention was marred by Castiel’s injuries, Sam found his own attention was more drawn to the serenity of their surroundings. The deeper he breathed, the less he felt the bruising all down his right side, and the less he was urged to cough by the injuries in his throat after being choked.

“Does this still hurt?” Dean muttered. Sam glimpsed a movement; Dean reaching for Castiel’s hand.

“ _OW_ ―!”

The sound of Castiel’s strident outburst echoed through the basin, blotting the sound of sloshing water from Sam’s senses for a good few seconds. A startled bird cawed in the distance, and a dog started barking on the far bank of the lake.

Breath collected over Castiel’s head, then dissipated as he swallowed and tried to relax.

“Yes, it hurts,” he said, his voice overly controlled. His jaw set tightly, fine muscles bulging at his lip as he held in another cry of pain.

Dean murmured in concern, fingers delicately touching Castiel’s, holding his palm in his own. “I think it’s broken. What did you do to it?”

“I― It twisted when I fired the gun,” Castiel said, breathing unevenly, wincing as Dean examined his index finger. “Ow― _ow_ ― It’s very sore.”

“Yeah, I can see that. It’s swollen up.” Dean caressed the back of Castiel’s hand again, soothing. “Hey, aren’t you _right_ -handed?”

Castiel met Dean’s eyes, apparently surprised. “Am I?”

Dean hung his head with a sigh. “Dude.” He looked up again, shaking his head in despair. “People are usually only good using one hand. Jimmy’s right hand was stronger, use that. Not your friggin’ _left_ hand, jeez.”

Ashamed, Castiel lowered his gaze.

Dean saw his disappointment as plainly as Sam had, and leaned forward to comfort Castiel before he got upset. Dean grasped Castiel’s bicep, rubbing up and down. “Don’t worry, okay? It’s a clean break, it’ll heal in a few weeks, more or less.”

His hand eased its grip on Castiel’s shoulder, again falling to stroke Castiel’s ever-so-slightly swollen finger. Castiel hissed in pain, tears springing into his eyes. Dean made a cooing, mothering sound, leaning his head close enough to Castiel’s that Sam was sure they would headbutt each other.

After a moment, Dean hummed in thought. “Maybe we oughta get him to an ER, though?”

It took another moment for Sam to realise Dean was talking to _him_. “What?”

Dean looked up this time, catching Sam’s eyes from where he sat at his feet. “Get him an x-ray or something. Ringo McCartney’s still got decent insurance coverage, right?”

Castiel continued staring at Dean with his hurt puppy eyes, but Sam frowned instead. “I thought it was a clean break.”

Dean shrugged. “Well, yeah, but...” His tongue skimmed over his lower lip, his gaze not leaving Sam’s. “This is Cas’ first real knock as a human. It pays to be cautious, right...?”

Sam squinted at his older brother, mildly confounded by the excessive care he was taking. “Dean, the first time _I_ broke a finger, you slapped it between a couple of twigs, wrapped it with duct tape, gave me a painkiller and told me I’ll live.”

Dean came over with a queer flush, head turning back to Castiel’s - but his eyes went to the boards he was kneeling on. “But that was _you_. Cas ain’t as together as you were back then.”

“Dean,” Castiel said bluntly. “I’m fine.”

“No you’re not, you’re paling out and you’re _sweating_ ,” Dean complained, reaching up to swipe Castiel’s forehead with the backs of his fingers. “I swear, if I looked at you in daylight, you’d be green as grass.”

Castiel’s eyebrows furrowed. “My complexion is normal. I’m fine.”

“You’re gross, and you’re wrong,” Dean insisted. He hopped to his feet and held out and hand to Castiel. “Get up, we’re taking you to a hospital.”

“ _No_ ,” Castiel said, clumping upright on trembling legs, his shoulders set. He whisked his injured hand out of Dean’s reach, but stepped forward so he was mere inches from his face, eyes ablaze. “I walked the pits of Hell, naked, flayed by fire down to raw skin. I led armies, Dean - armies of creatures bred in dimensions which you wouldn’t understand no matter how intricately I explained. I lost wars and I won wars, injured in ways that ought to have been unhealable. And I _fell_ ―”

“You fell, and you did it, all of it, for me; yadda yadda. I get it, you’re a couple of light-years out of my league. But I don’t care _how_ much pain and suffering you went through before, okay, because right now, your pointer finger is ouchey, and that _bothers_ me. All right? Just let me fix this. One problem at a time.” Dean’s jaw was as stiffly set as Castiel’s, their noses close enough that their huffed breaths mingled between their chests.

Sam continued to lounge against the railing of the pier, amused by the show. Dean and Castiel went on staring, and _staring_.

After maybe ten or fifteen seconds, Castiel’s glare slowly softened, but his shoulders didn’t untense.

Dean backed down first, his decision apparently hinged on something he’d seen in Cas’ eyes. He shook his head, looking down at his boots. “Fine. Whatever.” He met Castiel’s eye again, then took a slow, unwilling step back. “No ER, no hot nurses for you. But if your finger sets wrong, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Castiel harrumphed under his breath, puffing out a little wisp of condensation.

They spent another few quiet minutes under the lamplight, all three of them leaning against the barrier and looking out over the starlit waters of the reservoir. Dean muttered to himself, fussing with bandages and popsicle splints, but eventually he called the final, “Hold still. Aaaand― Done! How’s that feel?”

Castiel flexed his fingers, but found he couldn’t bend the broken one at all. “Good?”

Dean scoffed. “Don’t sound so surprised, I’ve been wrapping limbs since third grade.” He slapped Castiel on the back in celebration, then left his hand resting there as he turned to Sam. “And you, how’s the bruise?”

“Oh, you mean this?” Sam grimaced and lifted his t-shirt at the waist, giving Dean his second look of the night. Sam had peered into a hand-mirror earlier, and knew all the skin down his right side was mottled with purple and blue and black, essentially turned into a painter’s palette of damaged tissue. Sam let his shirt drop, eyebrows raised in silent amusement at Dean’s scowl of sympathy. “If I heard you correctly earlier, it’s ‘just a bump’.”

“Shuddup,” Dean said quietly, guilt weighing down his combined syllables. “I couldn’t see it properly in that light.”

Sam wheezed a laugh. “I don’t suppose you’d recommend taking _me_ to the ER.”

“And what would you expect them to do with you, exactly? After a four-hour wait, the most they’d be able to do is hand you a strong painkiller - which, by the way, we have plenty of.”

“Oh, relax,” Sam grinned. “I’m just messing with you. Let’s get back to the motel. A shower, a couple of vicodin and a long nap will cure everything. You said yourself: I’ll live.”

Dean sniffed, somewhat humbled. “Sure.”

They packed up and dragged their feet along the pier on their way back to the car. Castiel trailed behind, still enraptured by the fresh air and the expansive view of the open sky.

“For the record―” Dean said as they neared the Impala, which was parked in the dirt beside the road. He looked behind him before he continued, as if to check Castiel was definitely out of earshot. He glanced back to Sam, and sighed. “I’m not showing... favouritism, or anything.”

“No?” Sam said, keeping his smile neutral.

Dean shook his head, popping open the door to the back seat and tossing in the first aid bag. “I’m just worried about him, that’s all.” His eyes drifted back to the ex-angel, who stood sentinel at the root of the pier, face turned to Heaven. Dean sighed again. “He’s not strong like this. He’s scared. He’s like a baby bird that just took its first dive outta the nest, and flew slap-bang into a goddamn window. But I feel like I _put_ that window there.”

“You feel guilty,” Sam discerned.

Dean shrugged, which Sam took as confirmation. “Maybe.”

Sam tutted and squeezed Dean’s shoulder, simultaneously edging him out of the way so he could get to the passenger-side door. “I get it.”

“Sure you do,” Dean smiled. He met Sam’s eye before he climbed into the car. “I bet you see the whole picture, don’t you, Sammy? Director’s cut. In widescreen 3D.” There was a heavy note of sarcasm in his words, which Sam understood to mean Dean thought he was missing something.

So Sam smiled acceptingly and got into his seat, nursing his bruises as he waited for the others to join him.

The thing was, he was pretty sure he knew more about Dean’s feelings than Dean knew himself. Sam wasn’t missing a single jot of this so-called picture; Dean and Cas were wildly in love and more than likely sleeping with each other - or, at least, shacking up against a wall whenever Sam wasn’t around. It wasn’t hard to miss, Dean was fooling himself if he thought it was a secret. Sam smirked to himself, almost wishing there was more to the picture than what he already saw.

· · ·

...He should’ve wished for something else.

·♥·♥·♥·

Sam’s injuries became agitated by the shower’s hot water, but once he stepped back into the motel room’s main area in fresh clothes and half-dry hair, then downed a strong painkiller along with a glass of water, he did feel slightly better.

He said absolutely nothing about Dean shepherding Castiel into the now-unoccupied bathroom and shutting the door behind them both; such things were normal when two people were in a relationship. While Dean and Cas were knocking things over onto the tiles, arguing, and making a jolly racket, Sam curled up in bed with the light still on, attempting to get some rest.

Not ten seconds later, both Dean and Cas emerged from the bathroom in a clatter of irked voices.

“I can do it myself, Dean!” Castiel said, voice grating a low bassline in Sam’s ears. “I’m not a child, I know how to wash my hands!”

“Yeah, but your bandage―”

“Will not get wet.”

“But your clothes―”

“I’m perfectly capable of taking my own showers, Dean! Leave me alone!”

Dean squeaked at the rejection, heaving the sigh of a raging bull as Castiel slammed the bathroom door in his face. Sam watched his brother from where he lay on his bed, hearing Dean’s socks rasp on the carpet as he trundled over to the other bed and plonked himself down on the end of it.

“Is Cas taking the pull-out tonight?” Sam asked, his voice sleepier than he thought it would be.

Dean didn’t seem to hear.

Sam cleared his throat, and Dean finally perked his head up. “What?”

“I was just asking if Cas was going to be on the couch,” Sam said. “Since you’re on the bed.”

“What? Oh, yeah, we drew lots.” Dean spoke dejectedly, practically sneering at the floor. He blasted out another sigh, and flopped over his thighs and slapped his forehead into his hands, back hunched.

“Trouble in paradise?” Sam muttered, smirking slowly.

“Ngh,” Dean grunted.

“Is Cas doing okay?”

Dean shrugged roughly, head still down. “God knows. I think he’s pissed he let himself screw up. And he blames me as much as _I_ blame me, except it kind of hurts more that _he_ blames me. You know?”

Sam hummed sympathetically.

Dean grumbled and stood up, hauling his shirt over his head and tossing it onto the carpet, then undoing his jeans. Remarkably, Dean was the only one of them who had come out of tonight’s fight unmarked, aside from the blood splatter which had already been washed away. Sam closed his eyes to allow him privacy as he changed out of his underwear and into a fresh pair.

When Dean tucked himself into bed, Sam looked over at him again, observing his careless pose, one leg tossed up under the blanket, arms folded behind his head. His eyes gave his anxiousness away: he stared mercilessly at the bathroom door, presumably trying to burn a hole into it so he could keep an eye on Cas while he showered.

“It’s just―” Dean said suddenly, an arm flaring out to gesture at the room, “Why can’t he deal with stuff like a normal human being? Why’s he gotta bottle it all up and passive-aggressive his way through life? If he’s hurt, why can’t he say, ‘ouch, Dean, it hurts, please help me make it better’? Why does he insist on doing everything himself and dealing with everything himself, even when I’m _looking_ at him and I can see straight off the bat that he’s not fine?”

Sam rested his forehead in his hand up off his pillow, staring dully across at his brother. “I don’t know, Dean, maybe he’s more like you than you’d care to admit.”

Dean folded his arms across his chest. “Hmph.”

“Perhaps you need to give him some space for a bit. Not prod and fuss over him. Like he said - he was an angel for aeons before he ever met you, and, chances are, he can deal with a fractured finger bone with more grace than you can deal with the fact _he_ can deal with it alone, without you. He’s fine, so leave him be.”

Dean frowned and folded his arms tighter.

“It’s sweet that you’re so protective, but―” Sam sighed. “Ease off.”

When Dean’s cloudy expression clearly turned from ‘pissed’ to ‘110% sulk mode’, Sam rolled his eyes and called it a night. “I’m getting some shut-eye. If you have any sense at all, turn the light off and pretend to be asleep before Cas comes back out. I don’t think he wants a goodnight kiss.”

Dean’s eyes snapped to Sam’s before Sam could even blink. Sam saw a whirlwind of apprehension in Dean’s eyes, and squinted at him questioningly.

But Dean looked away again. “‘Night,” he said, firmly.

“‘Night,” Sam parroted, less surely.

Still, he lay down and shut his eyes, sighing in relief as Dean flicked off the light on the nightstand, leaving the room coated with the subtle cobalt glow from the curtained window.

Water spraying on the shower tray beyond the next wall became the only sound in the room for quite some time. Sam heard Castiel’s weight shifting on it, making the tray creak and the pipes jangle and clunk, but for a long while, it was a calming, ongoing sound.

Then the water shut off, and Sam heard Castiel’s hand swiping down the wet shower curtain, brushing it out of the way with its metal hoops squealing along their supporting pole. Cas stepped out of the shower, humming something that sounded suspiciously like Nat King Cole’s _L.O.V.E._.

A few more minutes passed in silence, during which time Sam almost fell asleep, cotton wool ears and cotton wool eyes, wrapped up in warm, fluffy blankets.

Then the bathroom door opened, and Sam’s eyes shot wide open, seeing a salient rectangle of golden light spill all the way to Dean’s bed. The light was then switched off, and Castiel padded on quiet cat-like feet across to the pull-out bed under the window.

The couch hinges creaked mightily, causing a full-body wince in Sam. He flinched a second time, this time in pain: his movement caused his bruises to spire into immediate and slow-yielding spasms. He was going to be sleeping on his left side all night if he intended to avoid that pain again.

He relaxed after a while. The pain settled; Castiel was tucked into bed without much fuss, and Dean was probably falling asleep too.

Then the couch squealed again. Castiel rolled over, grunting. His hips jiggled the springs, sending up a cacophony of screeching metal curls that set Sam’s teeth on edge.

Silence again. Blissful silence.

Then: _Skreecceeeeiieeee-ee. Sccheiiechcc-kii-heee―_

“Cas!” Dean sat bolt-upright in bed, slamming his hand onto the lamp and sending a strike of lightning to the back of Sam’s head. He closed his eyes immediately, not wanting to be part of the argument that was about to start. “For God’s sake,” Dean snapped, “either lie still or lie on the floor, your choice. Just stop _wriggling_.”

“It’s _uncomfortable_ ,” Castiel reasoned, with venom equal to that in Dean’s tone. “If you think you could lie here in one position, be my guest.”

“It’s _your_ turn on the couch.”

“Then stop complaining!”

Dean growled breathily, throwing himself back against his pillow and thumping out the light. Sam exhaled a soundless breath of relief.

_Sccr... scrree... Skee... creeee... keieeeee―_

“Jesus CHRIST.”

The light nearly blinded Sam, even with his eyes shut. He pulled the blanket over his face, groaning. He heard the heavy footfalls of Dean crossing the room to the couch, then the skin-to-skin contact of what he assumed was Dean grabbing Castiel by the arm and hauling him to his feet.

“Go and sleep in the bed,” Dean said with a snarl. “And not one word from you or I swear to God―”

“God doesn’t care,” Castiel said.

Dean was about to retort with something very rude, Sam felt it in his gut. But Dean surprised him: he said nothing.

Or, at least, he didn’t shout.

“Just go to sleep, Cas.”

With simultaneous sighs, both Dean and Castiel went to their reassigned resting places. The light switched off again, the couch screeched under Dean’s weight, and Sam assumed it would be for the last time.

A few minutes ticked by. In a different setting, Sam would have helplessly fallen prey to looming sleep, except he couldn’t escape the pressure in the room. It was like someone was holding their breath, and once he established that it wasn’t him, he wondered which of the other two was trying really, _really_ hard not to say something.

Finally, the tension popped like a bubble, without much fanfare but still subjecting the room to a total change in pressure: the couch creaked. And it _screamed_ , like a host of tiny sparrows were all dying simultaneously. Sam peeked out through one eye, seeing Dean’s ruffled hair silhouetted against the glowing blue window. “I can’t do it,” Dean declared with heartfelt morosity. “This couch belongs in a torture chamber.”

Sam bit his lip, awaiting the next progression of events.

Castiel sighed softly from the bed. “There is room beside me.”

Of course there was, Sam thought.

“I’m― Um,” Dean said. He seemed to fret over his reply. “There’s room on the floor.”

“There is also room beside me,” Castiel reasoned. “I dare say that this mattress is a significant improvement from both the couch _and_ the floor.”

“It’s no big deal, Cas,” Dean said, dragging his wool blanket off the couch and moving to lie on the carpet. Sam gritted his teeth unhappily as he heard Dean’s knees thump on the covered concrete, making Dean grunt. “The floor is totally... totally fine.”

People always did say a lie was easier to spot by hearing rather than by sight; Sam sensed not a single note of truth in Dean’s statement. Ugh, he couldn’t believe this. If Dean and Cas were already having sex on occasion, then it seemed ridiculous that they wouldn’t get over themselves enough to lie with one another for one night. Sam thought about calling them on it... but then...

What if they weren’t together? What if they were still dancing around each other as nervously as they had been from the start? What if they hadn’t so much as _kissed_?

No, Sam countered to himself. No, that was impossible. There couldn’t possibly be _that_ much romantic-slash-sexual tension between them. If such a thing were true, one or both of them would surely have exploded by now. At the very least, they had to be on the cusp of doing something. Neither of them were stupid, they both had to know how they felt about each other. Dean _definitely_ knew how he felt about Cas, or he wouldn’t have made all those mentions to Sam about having the whole picture. Or maybe―

Maybe the whole picture meant far less than Sam thought it did. Maybe it meant, quite simply, both Dean and Cas knew they were in love, but hadn’t done anything about it. Because they were both idiots.

Of course. Well, that made total sense. If it wouldn’t cost Sam a full minute of pain, he would have hit himself in the face out of second-hand frustration.

“...Dean?” came Castiel’s slow, testing voice.

“Mm?” Dean murmured back from the floor.

Silence.

“What, Cas?” Dean prompted.

“I― I’mmm.”

Sam screwed up his face, resisting opening his tired eyes for the sole purpose of rolling them.

“ _What_ , Cas?” Dean said again.

“I’m - cold?”

Dean shuffled on the floor. “What?”

“I, um. This bed, is very... big,” Castiel said. “It’s making me cold.”

“You have a blanket, don’t you?”

“Yes, but, it’s... cold,” Castiel said. “I need your help to... make it warm.”

Sam did roll his eyes this time. He held back on sighing loudly, in case it jarred the inch of progress the idiots had made.

“Cas, if you’re cold, get up and jump around.”

“I’m too tired.” He yawned very dramatically, demonstrating a lion cub’s roar. “I just want to sleep.”

“Then _go_ to sleep, you ass. Stop keeping the rest of us awake.”

Castiel rustled the blankets.

“...Sam?” Castiel called softly from the adjacent bed.

Oh, great.

Sam’s options lay between, firstly, muttering a reply, and risking this closeted back-and-forth going on indefinitely, or, secondly, staying silent, and becoming an unwilling spectator to whatever came next.

At the end of the four seconds Sam’s sleep-clouded mind took to calculate those options, Castiel had preemptively made the assumption Sam was sleeping. Sam heard him roll over, now whispering to Dean, “Sam’s asleep.”

“Well, good. That makes one out of three,” Dean muttered bitterly.

“But...” Castiel fidgeted. “Sam’s _asleep_ , Dean.”

“...So what?” Dean picked up on Castiel’s odd tone as easily as Sam had; what was Cas trying to insinuate?

“So he won’t know if you - um - help me get warm again,” Castiel said.

A number of thoughtful seconds passed, then Dean said, “Are you really that cold?”

Castiel’s breath caught. “Yes. I’m―” he cleared his throat, “I’m freezing.”

Sam was about as good at picking up on lies from Castiel as he was from Dean. That was one of the worst-told lies Sam had ever heard, it was almost funny.

Dean made a slow, breathy sound from the floor beside the couch. “You’re sure Sam’s asleep?”

Sam breathed slowly and casually, squinching his eyes shut, knowing full-well that he was making a mistake in doing so. Could he help it that he wanted to understand Dean and Cas’ current relationship, as well as wanting to push them together if they weren’t already? With the aside that he might end up scarred for life, he couldn’t imagine there was a downside to pretending to nap.

“Yes, I think so,” Castiel confirmed.

“All right,” Dean said. He sighed rather fearfully, the gust shaking in his throat.

Sam watched through the slit of one eye as Dean got to his feet, tossing his blanket onto the couch. Slowly, ever so slowly, he edged up to the side of the bed. Castiel sat up, pushing back one side of the blanket so Dean could get in beside him.

The mattress depressed heavily, a large spring clunking deep within its body. Sam heard Dean’s breath catch - at first he thought it was because of the bed, but then he realised it was because Dean was excited. Both their heads were silhouetted against the window, since they were sitting up together in the centre of the bed, facing one another.

“Hi,” Dean said nervously, breathing over a little grin. Castiel chuckled softly, shifting in the bed to allow him a wider berth.

“Hello, Dean,” came his reply.

It wasn’t gruff and dull like normal. It was a greeting rich with emotion, softness, and enough love that Sam actually felt warm in the region of his heart. He blinked, trying to get ahold of the weirdness and control it.

“You’re not cold,” Dean said. His hands were under the blanket, Sam imagined he was touching Castiel somehow, maybe his hands, maybe some other ‘safe’ part of him - Sam wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“Of course I’m not cold, I had a hot shower, and this blanket is quite thick,” Castiel said.

Dean laughed softly. “Yeah? Um. Okay.” He paused. “So - so you, like―”

“I lied about being cold because I want to sleep with you,” Castiel said, in his most obvious tone of voice. “I’m sure it would be more pleasant for you here, with me, rather on than the floor.”

Dean’s breath was coming unevenly now. Sam held his breath so he could hear his quiet reply: “Do you mean... _sleep_ -sleep, or...?”

“What other type of sleep is there?” Castiel asked.

Dean scoffed under his breath, as startled as Sam was. Castiel surely knew what the phrase meant?

Dean, however, didn’t care to explain, nor question Castiel further. “No. That’s all. Just sleep. Okay.”

“Dean...?”

“It’s nothing. Look, just― Lie down. Lie down, I’ll take the left, you take the right. Put a pillow between us or something.”

“What for?”

“What? Um.” Dean swallowed, his breath jittery now. He was still sitting up, curled over his legs, arms wrapped around his knees. “So we don’t accidentally touch, or something. I don’t know, they do it on TV.”

“I don’t mind if I accidentally touch you, Dean,” Castiel assured him. “Like this.” Sam saw his hand skim Dean’s bare shoulder, a soft slip of sound reaching Sam’s ears. “Oops, it was an accident.”

Dean was probably breathing less than Sam was. “Y― You― _Cas_ ―”

“Or like this.” Castiel ran the backs of his fingers down past Dean’s throat, sliding below the blanket where Sam thankfully couldn’t see. Dean gasped aloud, startled in his place. “That was an accident too.”

“That wasn’t an _accident_ ,” Dean hissed, huffing an uneasy breath. “You just― You friggin’ _fondled_ me, Cas!”

“By mistake,” Castiel insisted. “I thought that was your thigh.”

Sam clenched his jaw, forcing all mental images of Cas’ hands and parts of Dean’s body that were _not_ his thigh far from his mind’s eye.

Dean swallowed loudly, his eyes glistening with a pinprick of light, shoulders barely illuminated by the window behind him. “Is this what sleeping is to you?” he asked Castiel.

“We’re not asleep.”

“We’re supposed to be.”

Castiel hummed, tilting his head. Sam saw the slope of his wide shoulders, bare and sleek. Dean’s eyes appeared to be drawn to them, and everything below them, despite trying to hide his interest.

“Would you like to touch me accidentally, Dean?”

Dean shivered - literally shivered. “No― No.” He shook his head for good measure.

Castiel was quiet for a bit, but Sam didn’t see either of them move.

Then, Castiel huffed. “Ouch.”

Dean’s attention piqued again. “You okay?”

“My arm hurts,” Castiel declared quietly.

Sam found himself smiling. Cas’ arm was probably about as far from hurting as it was possible to be; Dean’s bandaging and the painkiller would have seen to that.

“God, you didn’t get it wet in the shower, did you?” Dean tutted, shuffling forward in the bed to get closer to Castiel, hands reaching to touch his wrapped arm. He patted it. “This hurt?”

“Yes,” Castiel said.

“What about this?”

“Yes.”

“Anywhere else?”

“Everywhere,” Castiel said.

“Hmm,” Dean replied. Funnily enough, Dean didn’t seem to see the lies for what they were: excuses to make him touch Castiel. He appeared genuinely concerned about Castiel’s pain.

“Hey,” Dean muttered after a moment of consideration.

“Yes?”

“Can I try something? Something my mom always used to do to help me feel better.”

Castiel’s silhouette seemed to soften, shoulders slumping. “Anything, Dean.”

“Where does it hurt the most?” Dean asked.

“Um, my finger,” Castiel replied. “The broken one.”

“Here, let me see.”

Castiel put his injured hand into Dean’s palm, and Dean looked at it carefully in what little light he had from the window. Sam’s eyes widened as he saw Dean lift the finger to his mouth - and he kissed it, softly and sweetly, pursed lips pressed gently to the bandage.

Dean was smiling as he let Castiel’s hand fall to his lap, balled up within his own fingers. “Feel better?”

“Yes,” Castiel said, this time with actual surprise in his voice. “Yes, it feels much better.” He made a pensive noise. “My stomach is aching now though.”

“You’re sick?”

“Oh― No, it feels... nice. It started when you kissed my finger.”

“Oh,” Dean breathed. “Yeah. Butterflies. Yeah, me too.” He grinned awkwardly, covering a giggly laugh by hastily clearing his throat.

“This is exciting,” Castiel whispered. “Can you kiss me again?”

Dean eased a tense breath out through narrowed lips, then gulped. “Where does it hurt?”

“My arm,” Castiel said immediately. He raised his bandaged arm up, letting Dean cup it with delicate fingers.

Sam squirmed internally, half-closing his eyes so he didn’t have to see. And yet, he kind of wanted to see. He’d never observed Dean being so tender with another person, aside from himself. Dean used to help Sam like that too, when they were kids. A kiss or a hug made everything better. Except, for Sam and Dean, there had been none of the tummy butterflies Dean and Cas were apparently experiencing at present.

Dean kissed Castiel’s arm, and Castiel sighed happily.

“Yes, thank you,” Castiel nodded. “Now, my shoulder.”

“Your shoulder hurts?”

“Yes, very much,” Castiel said. He leaned forward, making the bedsheets shift.

Dean seemed scared at first, leaning away by a fraction - but then he caught and held Castiel’s eye, and gradually seemed bolder. Eventually, he leaned his head down, and put his lips against Castiel’s bare skin, on the juncture between collarbone and bicep. He kept his face there, breathing out slowly. Then, oddly demure, he breathed in as he ducked away. Sam supposed he was trying to inhale Castiel’s scent, as sickening as that was.

“A― And here,” Castiel’s breath came out trembling. “It hurts here.”

Dean licked his lips, timid eyes flicking up to meet Castiel’s. “That’s your heart, Cas.”

“Yes. It hurts.”

Sam considered the affection in each of the words Dean and Castiel spoke to each other, and he was vulnerable enough in his fatigue that he was moved by it. It was a pretty nice exchange to hear, if he were completely honest; there were worse private conversations in the world to be inadvertently present for.

Dean shook his head, seemingly to himself, then looked down at his hands as he fiddled with the blanket. “Why does your heart hurt?”

The room was quiet for a while.

“Because,” Castiel began, “when― When you’re with me, when you fight for me - alongside me - when you care for me after battle... no matter how much affection you show for me, I feel as if something is missing. The emptiness becomes an ache, and the ache becomes a physical hurt. And now my heart hurts, Dean.” He sighed. “I think it’s broken.”

“It’s not broken.”

Another silence reigned, this time flooded with the loud echoes of the night Castiel had bellowed those very words, having hidden his betrayal from both brothers for nearly a whole year. Only, this context was very different.

Dean swallowed. “I mean, your heart can’t be broken,” he said. “Because― Because if it was broken, then...”

“Then what, Dean?”

“I don’t know, I’m thinking. Give me a minute.”

The motel room palpitated with the pressure of a brain working hard, and Sam did wonder what Dean was about to say, but all thought abruptly ended when Dean sighed, shaking his head. “No, I don’t know. I don’t know what to say, Cas. Except, I... I feel the same. I feel broken too. Um. It’s weird. I’m― I’m not really sure―”

His stuttered response again ended as Castiel shifted his arm closer; Sam could only assume he’d taken Dean’s hand. Dean was frozen and silent, eyes directed low, mouth hanging partially open.

“Do you love me, Dean?”

Straight to the point.

Dean seemed to whine, a breath squeezed in his throat. Sam sensed all his repression and all his squashed feelings all unravelling at once, sprung from their tightly-lidded box. No matter how much Dean were to scramble to keep his answer hidden, the question was hanging in the air, and there was no longer any escape from it.

Eyes firmly shut, Dean nodded.

Castiel sighed in relief. “Good. Me too. And my heart hurts because of it.”

Dean peeked out at him, trembling in his nest of blankets. “Is- Is it a good hurt sometimes? Like, you’re smiling, and you’re looking right at me, and... and it hurts, but... you’re...” His voice trailed into nothing.

Castiel smiled. “Yes.”

Dean grinned, lowering his head again. “‘kay.”

“Are you going to kiss my heart better now?”

Dean laughed, a hand shooting up to cover his shaky grin. He held Castiel’s eye, smiling softly as he asked, “You gonna kiss my heart too?”

“You kiss mine first, then I will.”

Ugh, Sam had eaten caramel less cloyingly sweet. Before now he hadn’t even known Dean was this much of a lovey-dovey sap. Cas either, for that matter.

Dean made a ridiculous little noise of excitement and satisfaction as he craned down and kissed Castiel directly on his chest. Castiel’s fingers sank into his hair, his head lowered too so he could kiss the top of Dean’s head before he pulled away.

Dean laughed again, this time with both hands over his face to hide his embarrassment.

“Now I can kiss you,” Castiel said, helping Dean sit up straight, pushing him out of his shy hunch. Dean’s breath turned into a helpless whimper as Castiel put a long, gentle kiss on his heart.

When Castiel straightened back up, Dean looked lost.

“Your heart is beating very loudly,” Castiel remarked. “If you’re scared, you don’t need to be scared. I kissed your heart better for you.”

This softer side of Dean was nearly a stranger to Sam, but still, he recognised the hope and the weakness in him. Dean was a kid under all his protective armour, a kid who never got to play house or dress up or kiss his best friend by accident. Sam could see that now, and he could see Castiel coaxing that little boy back out. Gentle, simple phrases. Soft touches and important questions. He was making it easy for him.

“I― I’m okay,” Dean assured Castiel shakily. “I’m okay.”

“Is there anything else I need to kiss better?” Castiel asked. He lifted their joined hands to his lips and kissed the backs of Dean’s. “Does anything hurt?”

Dean trembled again. Sam frowned, wondering if Dean was just cold, or if he was legitimately experiencing fear, scared of what he and Cas were exploring now. He wore none of the stoicism he always presented; he was a trembling, giggly mess. These simple affections had rendered him undone, and Sam had to marvel at how perfectly Castiel had exacted this. Cas must have known how to do it, he must have been studying Dean for all the time they knew each other. He was a skilled manipulator - and for once, he’d used his powers on Dean, and only for Dean’s benefit. Some magic didn’t require mojo at all.

“Dean,” Castiel urged, terribly gently. “Come on, Dean, tell me what hurts.”

“My lips,” Dean whispered, barely a sound at all. “M-my lips hurt.”

Castiel chuckled, tilting his head closer to Dean. “Do they, now.”

Dean nodded hastily. “Mm-hm.”

“All right, I suppose I’ll have to kiss them better, won’t I?” Castiel said, smirking. “Would you like that?”

Dean nodded again.

Castiel started to lean in for a kiss, and Sam heard Dean’s breath hitch entirely, lips parted, eyes half-shut. Dean made a pathetic sound of want, just as their lips sealed, just as Castiel sighed over Dean’s cheek and rocked into his mouth.

Sam could have closed his eyes, but there was something fascinating about these two kissing. It wasn’t like watching other people kissing, it was _Dean and Castiel_. This was Sam’s only family and their guardian angel. The man who rescued Dean from eternal torment and became part of both their lives. The man who Dean fell in love with. The man who loved Dean back.

Sam could only stare, and kept staring as the kiss broke. Dean didn’t seem to stop shivering. Castiel murmured something reassuring, hands reaching up to stroke Dean’s shoulders. Dean sighed, a breathy sob meeting Sam’s awareness - it took a second to realise Dean was laughing.

“You liked that,” Castiel smiled.

Dean nodded. “Yeah.” He grinned hugely, bumping himself closer to Castiel, nudging his nose upward so he could put another kiss on Castiel’s lips. “Mmmm...”

Castiel gasped as their second kiss separated, and Dean made a delighted sound, as joyful as a Christmas morning.

“Oh my God,” Dean whispered. “Again. Kiss me again.” He pushed surely into Castiel’s space, hard enough that they unbalanced in the bed, swaying as their lips connected. Dean purred at the back of his throat, and kept the kiss going, turning his head. It seemed sloppy and uncontrolled, but Sam supposed a kiss between Dean and Cas was a kiss that transcended the need to be skillful, it just had to exist to be good.

Dean huffed for breath once they surfaced. The two of them appeared to hover against the bed at an angle, supported by Castiel’s arms stuck out behind him. Dean panted over Cas’ lips, while Castiel mouthed absently like he was thinking about going for another smooch - or ten. Their eyes held, fascinated by each other.

“Uh-m,” Dean said, tongue stumbling. “Are we― Are we gonna - sleep together? The non-sleep kind of sleeping?”

“You mean intercourse,” Castiel supplied. He chuckled when Dean lowered his head bashfully at his words. “Would you like to?”

Dean seemed to hold his breath for a few seconds. Then, in a whisper, he replied, “I really don’t know.”

“Then... perhaps more kissing...?”

Dean hummed in relief, and practically threw himself on top of Castiel, pushing him into the mattress with a vocal yet unintelligible affirmation.

Sam was taken over by middling-level disgrace, as all at once he heard only kissing, tumbling and squishing and wet, wet gasps - clearly Dean’s gasps - as well as small moans. Dean and Castiel’s shoulders rocked, their hair blurring messily in their silhouette. Castiel’s hands went to Dean’s hair, stroking and pulling.

“Oh my God,” Dean drawled, mouth still caught on Castiel’s. “Oh my _God_ , I can’t believe we’re doing this. We’re _doing_ this―”

“Shh,” Castiel hushed him, “Shh, Dean, just kiss me. Just kiss me.”

Dean mewled deeply, piling further atop Castiel’s supine form, maintaining the cozy, bundled-up quality within their activity, even once the blankets were kicked away from their squirming bodies.

Sam held his breath, frowning. He was trapped, and it was his own fault for not speaking up earlier. He couldn’t even turn away and give them privacy, as his right side was bruised. He was doomed to watch this scene unfold before him, and even with his eyes securely shut, he couldn’t help but imagine it; the sounds were too clear, there was nothing to imagine but reality.

“Mm, Cas― More,” Dean murmured. “Moremoremore―”

Kissing and kissing and _kissing_.

Sam peeked - damn the curious part of him - and saw that Castiel’s bare legs were trussed up around Dean’s waist, holding him close. Dean was secured in Cas’ limbs, petted by his hands, adored by his mouth. Sam again felt glad this was happening, but couldn’t escape the gross knowledge that he was watching his _brother_ getting mauled by all this nauseating love.

And then, just as Sam closed his eyes again, he was compelled to open them once more, because he heard the startled, afraid wobble in Dean’s voice as he said, “Oh no.”

“It’s okay, Dean,” Castiel whispered. He stroked Dean’s hair back, pecking another kiss to his lips. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

“But it’s― It’s there, I can’t ignore it― _...Aohh―!_ Crap!”

Sam almost asked what was wrong, but held his tongue and waited for the answer to present itself without prompting.

Dean flopped onto Castiel’s chest, a whimper on his breath. His words came out in a slurred mess as he muttered, “Nhh... Almost toppled it just then. _Ahh_... Goddamn it. So friggin’ embarrassing.”

Castiel laughed softly. “I won’t tell anyone.” He kissed Dean’s ear with a smack. “Would you like to continue?”

“Continue with what? The make-out session or the... The other thing.”

“I’ve heard climax can be enjoyable.”

Sam internally groaned in dismay as he fully understood what was happening. It didn’t matter how absolutely Castiel kept Dean’s secret, Sam would always be aware that he’d _almost_ witnessed Dean ejaculating prematurely. It was all so _horrifying_. And yet, Sam still cared too much about the end result - which would likely include _actual_ ejaculation - to allow himself to stop the other two in their tracks.

Sam made his mind up: he would stay quiet. No matter what came (or _who_ came, ew), he would bite his cheeks and cover his eyes and ears, and he would let these events run their course. Dean needed Castiel, he needed the comfort he was getting now. Castiel probably needed something too, but Sam didn’t want to dwell on the specifics of what he needed. Whatever it was, it was likely far more adult than Dean’s need for cuddles and affection.

“Orgasms are pretty great, yeah,” Dean laughed, relaxing under Castiel’s hands, after his shame abated. “You really never had one before?”

“Never,” Castiel said. “Although I think I might be halfway there already.”

Dean chuckled, nuzzling his face into Castiel’s shoulder. “Nah, you’re just hard. You’re nowhere near the finish line, believe me.”

“But it... feels so amazing?”

Dean chuckled again, ending his rumbly sound with a slow groan, shifting his weight on the bed. A spring clunked in the mattress, and Castiel sighed as pressure applied to whatever part of him Dean wriggled against. “Boners are like that,” Dean said eventually, groaning. “Ohhh, yeah, that’s good.”

“Mmm,” Castiel moaned back, with a hint of surprise in his tone. “Ah... That’s - that’s very - _oh_ ―”

Dean laughed, pushing his hips down, and down again, exhaling through his mouth. “It gets better. It gets so much better.”

“Would you be willing to show me?” Castiel whispered. “Show me, and take me all the way to the end?”

“Without freaking out on you, you mean?”

Castiel nodded.

Dean lifted his head, and Sam saw his tongue dart out to lick his lips. “Umm.”

Castiel’s hand drifted back through his hair, mussing what was already mussed. “I trust you, Dean. And I have faith.”

Dean’s forehead thumped to Castiel’s chest, a sigh forced from his nose.

“I mean it, Dean. I love you, and if you’re ready, I’d like for us to... demonstrate how much.”

“Is this blackmail?” Dean lifted his head again. “I do it with you, or you won’t believe I - feel stuff for you back?”

“Nothing of the sort,” Castiel said sharply. “I said, if you’re ready. If you would prefer to limit this exercise to kissing, then that suits me equally. If you’d prefer only to sleep, then―” he turned his head, “I will admit I’d be disappointed, but no, I won’t make you touch me.”

“You kinda want me to touch you, huh,” Dean said, ever so perceptibly.

“Yes,” Castiel replied. “I know you, Dean. _You_ want to touch me, too.”

Dean harrumphed, resting his forehead on Castiel’s cheek.

Castiel’s arms wrapped over his shoulders, and they lay in stasis for a while, apparently in wait of Dean’s answer. Sam tried not to think about it, but his tired mind betrayed him: he wondered if they were still aroused, or if their conversation had lent softness beyond their soft words.

Not half a minute later, Dean shuffled. “I... um.”

It must have been difficult to answer aloud, especially for a man like Dean, locked in a mental prison that made wording his feelings such a challenge.

Castiel knew that as well as Sam did, and he offered Dean an escape: “If you want to kiss, kiss me back.” Castiel put their lips together, and Dean didn’t waste a moment before surging into the touch. Sam actually saw his tongue reach, then saw their shapes combine at the lip, merging as the smushing, squishing sounds arose like the trilling of crickets at high noon, swelling to a crescendo that didn’t abate, didn’t slow, didn’t seem to break to allow a breath to be taken.

Still without full breath, their lips parted solely so Castiel could give a quiet moan, and could implore, “If you want to touch―” kissing, Dean’s gasp, Dean’s moan, “touch me back. Oh, touch me, Dean― Yes!”

The bed shook on its base as Dean and Castiel began to move in tandem, rocking and twisting about in confusing abstract planes of silhouetted skin. Castiel peppered Dean’s face with loving kisses, wrapping his torso steadily in a cherishing embrace. Sam couldn’t take his eyes off the sight, somehow not wanting to miss how important this had become.

Dean’s voice had deepened to a husky gnarr, but his words were honeyed and smooth as he called to Castiel under his breath, “Tighter. Tighter, hold me tighter. Please, Cas― Oh, please―!” Another gasp cut the velvet in the room, and the bed thudded as the two men rolled over, Dean underneath this time. “Cas!”

“Quiet!” Castiel hushed him, a hand shooting to cover Dean’s mouth. “Quiet, Sam is asleep.”

Sam almost snorted in a sudden rise of hysteria. If only he were asleep. If only.

Dean shook and trembled as Castiel cautiously removed his hand, letting Dean breathe. Dean couldn’t help moaning again, a low sound that curtailed with a feminine whine. Castiel chortled at the sound, but it was inescapably clear that he was aroused by it anyway. Dean sobbed and let him rock down against him, pounding the bed unevenly.

“Mmh! Get my boxers off,” Dean murmured. “Quick, Cas, quick.”

They fumbled and bumped around on the bed, grunting with the effort of removing one item of clothing each. Dean growled in what Sam assumed was pleasure as Dean and Cas lay naked together once again, returning to the odd rhythm of before, with Castiel riding Dean from above - naked this time.

“More, more,” Dean whispered. “Cas, go harder. Harder, rub me harder.”

Castiel grunted, his torso lifting up from Dean’s in order to put more weight onto his hips. Sam couldn’t see their legs, but he could guess from their previous position that Castiel was now straddling Dean, knees tucked either side of his waist, feet alongside his thighs. Their genitals were rubbing and squashing together, averse as Sam was to the knowledge.

Dean cried out, head tilting back into the pillow and exposing his throat. Castiel snarled at how loud Dean’s cry was, but there was no way to stuff it back into his mouth unsaid. Dean only moaned again, feverish and yearning for another push down, another pulsing weight on him.

“Oh Cas― Oh Cas― Pleasepleaseplease―”

“Hush,” Castiel said, shaking his head as he held Dean’s eye. “Nod or shake your head, yes or no, is this good? Does this feel good?”

Dean nodded, whining. “S-so good, so good, go harder, go h- harder, please...”

Castiel bit down on Dean’s mouth, swallowing another strained cry. Sam tried to cover his ears so he couldn’t hear how wrecked Dean was becoming at the contact, how obviously he was enjoying being held down and taken advantage of as a begging plaything. There were facts Sam already knew about Dean, and there were suppositions that never needed confirmation, and this fell into the latter category.

However, Sam’s hands were not insulation enough to muffle Dean’s cry of, “Fuck me!” Sam’s hand lifted off an ear in his shock, only to see and hear Castiel slap his hand immediately onto Dean’s mouth, muffling the continued pleas of “Fmmck mm, mmh Gmmmd, mm, plmm!”

Castiel’s response came low and torturous, head down against Dean’s. “Not now, Dean. Plead for me all you want, but withhold your fantasies for some other time. They are _beautiful_ fantasies. We can make them a reality, but not tonight. Hold your tongue.”

Castiel let Dean’s mouth go, and Dean whimpered, shivering, still revered by Castiel’s rolling hips.

Sam’s eyes watered, distressed by everything he was taking in, but he was unable to separate himself from the scene. Dean must really have been desperate if he was mindless enough to wail so loudly while he _knew_ Sam was in the next bed, and had always been a light sleeper. Sam could only conclude that Dean was crazed by Castiel’s touch, to some unbelievable extent. It was almost endearing, and Sam would call it such, were it not for his nausea.

Castiel started humping, gyrating as he groaned and sat up straight as Dean remained lying under him.

“Ah! _Ah_!” Castiel grunted, then opened his eyes and laughed, giving a playful, dangerous tilt of his head. “Hold on tight, Dean. I’m curious; I want to see why it’s called _la petite mort_. Breathe. Breathe and relax. And - hold on. Hold on tight.”

Castiel moved faster - and faster - but not like he simply wanted touch, not like he only wanted to make Dean feel good. In only ten, twenty seconds, he was jiggling forward and down against Dean’s hips, gaining friction and speed with every harsh gasp he gave. Wow, he was really going for it, even Sam was impressed at his hungering stamina.

Dean wouldn’t stop moaning, so Castiel clapped his hand over his mouth and wouldn’t move it, leaving Dean to scream his ecstasy against his own tongue, writhing bodily in the tangled sheets, hands in fists. He was offered no mercy, no chance to slow down; Castiel had his own mouth open, rasping for breath, frowning deeply as he bucked into Dean, jackrabbiting on top of him.

Sam actually grinned as he heard Castiel’s self-control slip only a little, whispering, “Shit, Dean, _yes_ ,” hips going and going until the bed was hitting the wall on every other shove, probably cracking the frail plaster. Dean swung an arm up and gripped the headboard with one hand to silence its rough banging. He was groaning into Castiel’s hand hard enough that Sam heard the blare, and could see the tears in his eyes, could feel the resistance it was taking not to bite the flesh of Castiel’s palm.

Breath came like torrents of storm air, gusting, out of time with their movements. Castiel was maddened, monstrous. Dean had no hope at all.

Dean was actually crying, Sam realised; there were tear tracks shining on his face. Was it the sort of crying that meant he wanted to stop? Was Sam meant to save him?

Or... was this _Dean_? Was this what he did when it was good? Sam worried, but he couldn’t deny that Castiel had him in safe hands; he would know, surely he would sense if Dean wanted it to stop...

“Yes! Yes!” Castiel whispered, a force of breath turned into a pleasured word. His face turned to the ceiling, chest heaving as his speed didn’t wane, but kept on, hips grinding and slapping against Dean’s skin. “Oh, Dean, _yes_ ―!”

Sam almost choked on his tongue as he literally saw the spray of Castiel’s orgasm, white in the blue light, splashing all the way to Dean’s throat. Castiel’s hand shook and loosened on Dean’s mouth as a result of his discomposure, and Dean gasped for air like a man rescued from drowning, followed by an animal cry of “ _Ouugh_ hh―”

Dean’s hips lifted from the bed, an arch of muscle that would rival that of any yoga enthusiast. Sam squinted in disgust - and perhaps fascination - as he watched Dean press right into Castiel as he came, surrounded by the arms that swept him up and held him through it. Castiel had barely recovered from his own climax, but was making a tremendous effort to make Dean’s peak worthwhile.

“Cas... Cas...” Dean cried, quiet but longing. “Caaas...”

“Shh, Dean. Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay.” Castiel was out of breath, shaking in his speech. “It’s over now. You’ve done it, you’re okay.”

Dean was still weeping, his head rolling to one side as he trembled. Castiel smothered his cheek with kisses, hands lacing through his hair, tracing delicate patterns onto his scalp. “You’re safe. You’re safe. Just breathe.”

Dean followed his instruction and breathed deeply to calm himself, his weak, gripless hands curled at the nape of Castiel’s neck and on his back. His legs were apart with his knees raised, feet flat to the mattress, and Castiel lay between them; Sam hadn’t noticed the switch of position, but they both seemed comfortable lying that way.

Castiel kissed Dean’s forehead, his shoulders, his lips and his heart. Then he nosed at Dean’s chin, and Sam heard his careful whisper, “Are you all right?”

Dean trembled, then shivered, then nodded. He gave a small, timid laugh, soaked with throaty tears. “That was intense.”

Castiel chuckled, kissing Dean’s chin. “It was wonderful. I’m sorry I had to silence you like that.”

“No... no, it’s all right,” Dean whispered. “I was pretty loud.” He was shaking quite violently; he seemed to be in shock. Castiel hushed him, a hand making its way to thread his fingers together with Dean’s.

“Y-you know,” Dean laughed under his breath, his voice broken with tremors, “I don’t - I don’t usually moan like that...”

“No?”

Dean shook his head.

Castiel sighed, kissing him again. “Next time you can moan as loud as you like. I promise.”

“Mm, m‘kay,” Dean smiled, knocking Castiel blithely with his knee. He sniffled, then let out a mouthful of air, grinning at his own emotionality. “Sorry for - you know - bursting on you there, I didn’t exactly see that coming...”

The exchange faded into blissful silence for a while, both of them panting wordlessly. Sam hoped it was over, but he wasn’t as lucky as that.

“May I ask,” Castiel said, shifting so their mouths rested together, sharing air, “why did you weep?”

Dean gulped. “Um. I - I dunno.” He shrugged a shoulder, nudging the pillow. “I guess I was freaked out a bit, with the... your hand, and the whole... big... _thing_. You know? The love thing. The kissing and the - sex, and the... everything.”

“You were overwhelmed.”

“I guess, yeah. Yeah.”

“I didn’t hurt you?”

Dean shook his head, chuckling. “Nah. Freakin’ amazing.”

Silence ruled for a few heavy seconds, and then Sam smirked, hearing those inevitable, whispered words from Dean’s lips: “Love you.”

Castiel purred his appreciation, rocking forward to place a slow, deep kiss on Dean’s mouth. “Mmh,” he sighed, licking his lips as he pulled away to breathe. “I love you too.”

Dean was blushing; Sam didn’t need to see his cheeks to know. He was blushing and he was smiling, and Sam felt his heart swelling with a joy probably equal to Dean’s. It was such a relief to hear them exchange that sentiment. Family, they were family.

“Kiss me again,” Castiel said. “Kiss me until I fall asleep.”

Dean murmured amusement, grasping Castiel with his arms and rolling them over, then adjusting their position so Sam could no longer tell who was on top; he assumed they were lying side-by-side.

Smooching and quiet giggles hounded the room into mushiness, and Sam wished more than ever he could roll away and leave them be. In some ways, the tender moments after the big finale were the most precious, and the most intimate. He heard their smiles and their butterfly breaths, and wished it were harder to visualise Castiel wiping away Dean’s tear tracks with sweet little kisses.

He listened helplessly to Dean kissing Castiel’s bandaged injuries once more, then again, before their mouths met for perhaps the hundredth time, and they tongued each other into sleepy, drifting oblivion.

Sam felt gross. But he also felt emotionally satisfied; the idiots had a spark of sense in them after all. They made good on their potential, and that potential had every right to bloom.

Of course, being as exhausted as he was, in the newfound near-silence Sam fell asleep with those rosy thoughts in his head. They were going somewhere, they’d move forward together. That was really, really cool.

·♥·♥·♥·

The next morning, Sam woke up to hear the shower running, but nobody else was in the room with him. Squinting, then sitting up with a tired croak, he listened carefully...

“ _You’re a goddamn bastard, Cas,_ ” Dean’s voice travelled in from the bathroom. “ _You promised me you wouldn’t put your hand over my mouth again. Ugh, I hate you._ ”

“ _I’m sorry!_ ” Castiel replied, believable upset in his voice. “ _But Sam’s asleep in the next room. If you were any noisier than you were... he would have heard you, Dean. You moan so_ loudly _. And the shower makes everything sound like thunder._ ”

Dean donned a shamed silence, which made Sam smirk. He could sense the blush, as he always could.

“ _Huh!_ ” Dean said eventually.

“ _These walls are thin,_ ” Castiel went on. “ _If I can hear what_ you’re _saying in the bedroom while the shower is running, then by inference, he would have been able to hear us while we made love in here. I am sorry, but that’s why I covered your mouth._ ”

“ _What? You can hear into the bedroom from here?_ ”

“ _Yes?_ ” Castiel said. “ _How else would I have known how to―_ ”

He paused.

“ _...Why are you looking at me like that, Dean?_ ”

Dean spoke in an irked, deep-voiced mimic of Castiel’s voice: “ _‘Ouch. It hurts, Dean. Help me make it better.’ Is that what you mean, Cas? That’s what you heard? Me talking to Sam last night?_ ”

Sam ignored the pain in his side, and he clasped a hand across his eyes in woe. He was the only sensible one among the three of them, he was sure of it.

Castiel’s shamed silences were as potent as Dean’s. “ _Perhaps._ ”

More silence. The pipes rattled and the water flowed loudly, but no voice broke the tension.

Then, someone sighed.

Dean made a grumbly noise, then chuckled. “ _Screw you. And pass the soap, you owe me a massage. Don’t worry about getting your bandages wet, I’ll change them after._ ”

Sam shut his eyes, grinning into his hands.

“ _Oh, I think I owe you more than just a_ massage _, Dean..._ ”

Sam’s stomach churned, and he decided he might take a lesser blow to his sanity if he vacated the motel room as fast as possible. Strained by the effort it took, he got to his feet and made to dress himself, escaping the room at the precise moment the first long, pleasured groan came from the bathroom.

He stood outside the motel in the daylight, feeling weirdly light-hearted. Having seen far too much last night, he literally had the whole picture now, the one Dean had mentioned.

Idiots. They’d always be idiots.

But, hey, at least they had each other.

Sam strode off to look for a nearby bakery, smiling to himself.

{ **the end** }

**Author's Note:**

> [The illustrations I did for this fic (+ tumblr reblog) are here.](http://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/79521519001/sam-accidentally-sees-the-whole-picture) // [Team Free Will only version here.](http://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/79522008380/posting-this-one-on-its-own-because-yay-team)
> 
> I was meant to be writing a novel, but this happened instead. Oopsies. Kudos if I'm forgiven? D:
> 
> But seriously, thanks for reading, guys. I do this (all of this) for you. If nobody was reading my fictional dalliances, I wouldn't enjoy it nearly as much. Your feedback makes it worth throwing my life into this, and I'm not even exaggerating when I say that. ♥


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